


You Get Me Dizzy

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Background Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Getting Together, M/M, Singer Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Touring, basically stealing Medicine from Harry for one night only, bass player Allison, drummer!Derek, everything is fluffy and nothing hurts, guitarist Boyd, it'll make sense I promise, manager Lydia, mentions of Harry Styles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 06:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: Stiles, a solo act with the most kickass band ever, has subtly fallen in love with their new drummer, a decade older Derek Hale. But Stiles doesn't want to cause problems for the band, because his music is his life. But speculations are on the rise online, and maybe there's a chance, after all? During the Europe leg of their tour, Stiles finally makes a decision to come out publicly, with some help from Harry Styles's music.





	You Get Me Dizzy

Stiles sat in an armchair, smiling at the music journalist.

“Well, I didn’t think this was where I’d end up for sure,” he answered to her question, gesturing around the swanky hotel suite. “I was just a small-town sheriff’s kid who wanted to play music.”

“Right, I remember hearing your father having his fingers in finding you the band, though, is that correct?”

Stiles chuckled. “Oh yes. I was… sixteen, I think, when I finally told my dad I wanted to do music. We’d just moved to town after he got the job there, and I didn’t really know anyone yet. So he told me he’d ask around if there were bands that were looking for new people, because ‘you know you’ll have to practice hard to make it, son,’” Stiles mimicked his dad’s voice, making the woman laugh delightedly.

“So he did find you your first band?”

“Mmhmm, he went to the mayor, of all people,” Stiles said, pausing for dramatic effort when her eyes widened comically. “That was Allison Argent’s dad, by the way.”

She burst out laughing, and Stiles grinned.

“That makes sense. So, it’s Allison and who else from that original band that still tours with you?”

As if the woman hadn’t done her research and know already. It was okay, because Stiles was used to this by now.

“Allie in bass, and Boyd in guitar are original ones, we got Derek to join us about… six months ago. Just before the tour, actually.”

“Right, Derek Hale. He’s been a good fit for the band, I assume?” And there it was, the slightly predatory expression all journalists got in their eye when they hoped they were going to get something good to write about.

“When we lost Isaac to his life in France, we really didn’t know what we were going to do. I mean, he’d been with us from the beginning and as we all know, he’s an exceptional drummer. I also wasn’t sure who would want to join a bunch of kids on tour, you know.” Stiles spread his hands and grinned. “I mean, we’re all in our early twenties, and most available really good drummers were much older.”

“Right.”

“Derek actually contacted us, because he was a friend of Boyd’s. He’s a bit older than the rest of us, but that doesn’t matter. We all get along really well and so far, it’s been good touring with him.”

The door opened quietly behind Stiles, and Lydia peered in. “One more question, then we have to go,” she said in her usual tone that all journalists knew to obey by now if they wanted access to Stiles.

“Thanks, Lyds!” Stiles raised a hand, despite not seeing her. The door closed with a bit more force than it needed to.

“So, what’s next for you and the band?” The woman asked quickly, glancing at the door a bit nervously.

“We still have the Europe to tour. We’re writing songs on the bus a lot, and during our downtime. I guess it’s studio after tour, at some point.”

They said their goodbyes and Stiles signed a CD for the woman’s niece, before basically running out of the door and into the waiting bus. They were going to LA next, and after that, Europe.

 

The problem with being suddenly popular with all ages was this: there were a lot of fans who were anything from sweet, to dedicated, to obsessive, ti much too perceptive.

There had always been buzz about Stiles’s sexuality, but his first manager, Harris, had forbid him from talking about it at all. Stiles had been young and slightly scared of Harris, and he’d also been on the fence about his sexuality anyway, so… yeah.

Then he’d dated Lydia for a while, after which she’d booted Harris out and become his manager/handler herself, because apparently “you need someone who looks out for _you_ , not for himself, Stiles!”

They were just friends now, Lydia and Stiles, but there were a lot of fans who wanted them together. Some of those fans were the same ones who all but attacked anyone who talked about Stiles being bisexual online.

He’d done damage control, of course. Not personally, but through people he trusted to run certain blogs and social media accounts. He’d fed them information and things to say, as had Lydia who oversaw the Stiles Empire (her words, not his) and mostly, things had been good in the Stiles fandom.

But then, Derek Hale happened.

Stiles turned his head and looked at the handsome devil’s profile. Derek was asleep on the plane, and Stiles wished he could’ve been, too. He’d almost asked Lydia for something to help him sleep, but even the herbal stuff made him groggy sometimes, so he tried to wait it out.

At least he had something nice to look at.

Derek was in his mid-thirties, over ten years older than Stiles. He was also one of the greatest drummers of their generation, but he never wanted any spotlight. He just wanted to play songs he believed in with people who he liked, again, his words, not Stiles’s.

Derek was fucking gorgeous. The salt and pepper thing was to die for, and the way he smiled when he thought nobody was watching was endearing as hell. He had eyes that seemed to change colors depending on lighting, and he had bunny teeth, damn it. How was that fair?

And even if he’d looked like Quasimodo—that poor dude still broke Stiles’s heart a bit, damned Disney!—Derek would’ve been… amazing. Because he was kind, and generous, and nowhere near as shy as he seemed. He had funny stories and surprising jokes, he was witty and sarcastic, and just all around good person.

This all meant that for the last six months, Stiles had been trying to keep it in his pants. Because you do _not_ shit where you eat. They’d already lost one drummer via the way of fucking when Isaac fell for the opening act, a girl with an ukulele of all things, during their previous tour. Not that there was anything wrong with Emmy, but frankly, Stiles would’ve liked them both to stay rather than lose Isaac. But oh well, they had Derek now and….

“Stop drooling,” Lydia hissed into his ear, making him jump and flail.

“Jesus, woman!” he hissed back, turning to glare at her. She’d somehow snuck into the seat behind him. Private planes were awesome, especially when one of Lydia’s business contacts had needed to get his plane from the US to Paris just as they needed to go to Europe anyway and they’d hitched a ride on the otherwise empty luxury plane, but _jeeesus_ you just couldn’t get away from your best friend slash handler, could you?

“You know, you both have had admirable strength of character and will to not jump each other, but I don’t think anyone would mind,” she said very quietly through the gap between the window and Stiles’s seat.

_“What?”_

“You’re ridiculously into each other, Stiles, everyone has noticed. Well, anyone who has eyes. Haven’t you looked at Tumblr lately?”

Truth be told, he hadn’t. Because he’d sort of thought his mushy longing looks might’ve been caught on camera somewhere at some point. Apparently, that might’ve happened. Oh joy.

“B-but—”

“Look, he’s old enough to know better than to make it difficult for the band,” she started, keeping her voice down. She seemed to be contemplating on what exactly to say, and then ended up with, “Frankly, if you manage to bag all that, you won’t ever fuck it up, because you’d be too scared to do that.”

Stiles let out an affronted honk, which made Derek wake up. He blinked in confusion for a couple of seconds, then noticed Stiles across the aisle and gave him a gorgeous, sleepy smile.

“Hi,” Derek said quietly, not noticing Lydia who had frozen to the spot behind Stiles. “Did I sleep long?”

Somehow, Stiles managed to make actual words happen. “Uh, no, Ally is asleep too. We have at least three more hours.”

“Okay,” Derek said softly, then closed his eyes again and went back to sleep.

Stiles had to quietly slap a hand over his mouth to muffle the hopeless squeal. He was so gone on this man, and it was so fucked up. The fact that Lydia was snickering in her seat didn’t make anything easier.

 

About an hour later, Stiles went to use the bathroom which was probably bigger than the one he’d had in his first solo apartment and on his way back, noticed that Boyd was awake. He and Ally had been working on a song together in the back of the plane, and Stiles, Derek, and apparently Lydia had given them the privacy. They’d fallen asleep at some point, but now Boyd was awake, and Stiles needed to man up.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked in a low voice when he was passing them.

Boyd glanced at him and saw something in his expression, it seemed. “Yeah, take a seat,” he gestured at the spot right next to himself, probably understanding the need of privacy.

Stiles sat and tried to calm his erratic heartbeat. Boyd and Derek were bros. Not in a toxic masculine bro way. They genuinely were like brothers and loved each other deeply despite the age difference. Hell, they hugged and touched each other a lot, something that you wouldn’t necessarily guess if you just looked at them and didn’t know them at all.

“I… uh…. I think I’m in love with Derek,” Stiles blurted out, then inhaled sharply, the shock of the words making him twitch physically.

“Okay…?” Boyd blinked at him, then grabbed hold of his wrist in a calming way.

“I just… the band….” Stiles felt overwhelmed suddenly. The band was his life, his _music_ was his life, and….

“Hey, whatever happens, the band will have a life of its own, too. We might be playing together thirty years from now, or we might all go our separate ways next year. Who knows. Life happens. Don’t let the band prevent you for going after the first person I’ve ever seen you so gone over, Stiles.”

Stiles looked at Boyd with his mouth hanging open. It must’ve been more words than he’d heard Boyd say in the last week, total.

“He’s right, Stiles,” Allison said from across the aisle. “You and Derek look at each other exactly like my dad and Peter, and we all know how stupidly in love those two are even after all this time.”

Boyd chuckled. “It’s a big nauseating, to be honest, when Chris and Peter do it.”

Stiles smiled, still feeling a bit stunned. “You really think Derek likes me?” He hated that he sounded like a thirteen-year-old instead of a grown man, but….

“I know he does,” Boyd said firmly, squeezing Stiles’s wrist once before letting go. “But he won’t make the first move, because he sees you as his boss in a way.”

“What?”

“You’re a solo act, Stiles, with a band,” Allison said in a dry tone. “Technically we’re a package deal, but we need you more than you need us”—she held up a hand when Stiles started to protest—“career-wise, Stiles.”

“Yeah. We’re replaceable, you’re not,” Boyd stated.

There were so many things wrong in the statements that Stiles started to shake his head and felt himself tearing up. Then, between one breath and the next, something got fucked up and he couldn’t breathe quite right.

He gasped for breath, tears streaming down his face. There was a buzzing in his ears and he knew the others were talking. Logically he knew this was a panic attack, but his body thought it was dying, which made his brain consider it as a possibility, too.

“Hey, Stiles, look at me.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, gasping for air and somehow managed to make his gaze meet with worried hazel eyes. Derek.

“There you are,” Derek said, trying to smile. “Here, breathe with me, honey.” He took Stiles’s hand and pressed it against his chest, then began to count.

Stiles just stared into his eyes and somehow, eventually, his breathing synced with Derek’s and his heartbeat started to calm down. The tears were drying, and he felt oddly vulnerable and, worst of all, ashamed.

“Hey, none of that,” Derek murmured. He moved to sit in Boyd’s vacated seat and manhandled Stiles until he was hidden against Derek’s chest. “These things happen. Lydia said it’s been a while for you, but they never go away completely, I don’t think.”

Something about the tone let Stiles know that Derek had been experiencing panic attacks, too, at some point or another.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the maroon sweater. “I…. I can’t mess up the band, Der, I can’t.”

Derek tensed for a moment, and Stiles was pretty sure he was having one of those wordless bro-conversations with Boyd over his head, but before he could pull away, Derek relaxed again.

“I don’t know how this will work,” Derek admitted in a low voice. “It can be tricky. But I’m willing to try, because I really, really like you, Stiles.”

Feeling much like he had the first like he ever got on stage inside a legit stadium, Stiles pulled away enough to look into Derek’s eyes.

The crow’s feet and the salt-and-pepper in his beard and the fucking ridiculous eyes and bunny teeth and—“I might be in love with you,” Stiles said, his filter completely gone after the panic attack.

Derek blinked at him a couple of times. Then the most beautiful smile spread on his lips and he cupped Stiles’s cheek with his hand. “Good.” Then he leaned in and kissed Stiles chastely.

 

Two weeks later they had been photographed seemingly randomly around Europe. Of course most of those occasions were planned ahead behind the scenes, but nobody needed to know that.

People were speculating they were dating, even those who weren’t in the fandom. Apparently, they walked too close to each other, touched each other more, and looked each other differently.

Allison had too much fun going on Tumblr every evening to see what the Stiles fandom was thinking about all of this.

“They’re dubbed you Sterek, by the way,” she said one night. “Just so you know.”

Derek shook his head, smiling slightly.

Stiles, who was stuffing his face with chicken salad—got to stay healthy on tour—shrugged, chewed, and swallowed his mouthful, and said, “I like it. Anything else?”

“They’re waiting for you to come out somehow. Like not you and Derek necessarily, a lot of them seem to think that’s private, but like, your sexuality.”

“So, I had an idea for that, actually,” Lydia piped up from her spot behind the suite’s desk where she was doing something or other manager-y.

“Oh?”

“You know Harry Styles has that song, Medicine? How about now that we’re going to Royal Albert Hall on Friday, you could do that as an extra song, midpoint of the show maybe?”

Stiles blinked. It was a genius plan, really. Everyone and their aunt knew that song was a bisexual anthem.

“But would he let us do the song?”

“Oh yeah, I contacted his people and he’s very supportive of the idea.”

“Jesus….” Because let’s face it, Harry Styles was one of Stiles’s personal idols for many reasons. They had different styles, but Harry had definitely affected Stiles in quite a few ways.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

 

On Friday evening, moments before stepping on stage, Derek caught Stiles in the wings.

“You know I’m not expecting you to do this, right? If you want to wait or never do this….”

Stiles leaned into his embrace and shook his head. “No. This is about me. It’s about time.”

They kissed, and then separated to do their freaky customary handshake chest bump thing as a band, and then, it was showtime.

 

Midpoint in the show, Stiles wiped his brow with a towel and took a gulp from his water bottle. The crowd was waiting for him to talk, as he was bound to do at this point in the set, for a while.

“So, my people, I’ve something different for you tonight,” he started, and an excited rush of gasps and chatter came from the audience. He realized some of them were waiting for this as much as he had been, for just as many reasons. “You know I always said that the Royal Albert Hall was a huge goal of mine through the years. It still seems a bit unreal to be here, to be honest.”

He waited for the cheers and cooing to die down and drank some more water.

“I’d normally talk a bit more, but tonight I want to do a song instead. There’s this guy you might know called Harry—not the ginger one, mind you—and he has this song he’s letting us perform for you beautiful people. So here goes.”

At his signal, the band started the very distinct and recognizable intro, and the crowd erupted in noise like never before.

By now, couple of years after Harry first deputed the song on his tour, there were different versions of the lyrics, but Stiles knew what he wanted to sing. When he got to the chorus, he glanced back at Derek, who was playing his heart out, huge grin on his face.

Stiles gave him a thumbs up, then turned back to the audience and sang the second verse.

“The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with him, and I'm OK with it!”

The noise almost drowned out the band, and suddenly the audience lit up with the colors of the bisexual pride flag. He didn’t know who had organized it or how, but the fans had divided sections of the arena into colors and it looked like they were doing it with their cell phones somehow.

Stiles could just about keep singing the rest of the song, he felt so fucking choked up. On the second to last “you get me dizzy,” he looked at Derek again, and saw how moved he was too.

When the song ended, the crowd was still going wild, and Stiles realized he was crying. Ally trotted closer with her bass, and gave him a one-armed hug that only made the fans squeal more.

“So proud of you, Stiles,” she whispered, smooched his cheek, and went back to her place.

Boyd gave him a thumbs up, smiling widely as well, a rare treat for their fans by the sounds of it.

The best thing was Derek, though. He was drinking water behind his drums, and when Stiles glanced at him, Derek winked.

Someone, or several people probably, were filming the show on their phones and the wink and Stiles’s reaction to it happened to be projected onto the big screens. Someone made gifs of it all that night, and the next day, it was everywhere. Not that anyone in the band minded in the least.

 

One morning, about a week later, Stiles woke up to fingers carding through his hair. He blinked his eyes open and smiled at Derek who was, as usual, sitting against the headboard with his glasses on his nose as he read something or another on his tablet.

“Mornin’,” Stiles managed to say before burrowing himself against Derek’s stomach.

“Almost time to get up,” Derek said. “So don’t fall asleep again, okay?”

“Mhmm….”

They were in Sweden, having a bit of downtime before the next gig in two days. They did, however, have an interview set for around midday. Their first couples interview with a gay magazine, in fact.

“You wanna shower and fool around?” Derek asked just as Stiles was about to fall back asleep.

“Uh-huh, yeah, let’s go,” Stiles was rolling out of bed before he was completely awake, making Derek throw his head back and laugh with delight.

Stiles managed to get himself to the bathroom and pee without braining himself on anything, and he had just started the shower when Derek walked in.

“Hey,” Derek said when he stepped into the spacious cubicle. “I love you.”

Stiles pressed himself against Derek from head to toe. “I love you, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I follow some Harry fans on Tumblr, and I really like his solo music. ["Medicine"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCRTwcAFWB4) is one of the better songs I've heard in a long time. You can blame this on Harry Styles.


End file.
